


Take Your Child To Work Day

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Professor Potter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: In which Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, takes his one year old son to work for the day. Inspired by glisseo's Blackboards and Broomsticks





	Take Your Child To Work Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glisseo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Blackboards and Broomsticks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813657) by [Glisseo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo). 



> I am a BIG FAN of Emily’s Professor Potter AU and wanted an excuse to play around in it, so I hope this passes muster! You totally do not have to have read her (wonderful, amazing) fic to get this one; literally all you need to know is that it’s an AU in which Harry takes the job of DADA professor. But also if you haven’t read her wonderful, amazing fic, go and do so AT ONCE. It's called Blackboards and Broomsticks and have I mentioned that it is both wonderful and amazing???

“Um...excuse me...Professor Potter?”

He tried to ignore Ginny’s snort of laughter at hearing him addressed in this way, and turned around, smiling. He’d clocked the group’s reflection in the shop window and recognised about half of the girls from his sixth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

“Yes? It’s Emma, isn’t it?” he addressed the girl who’d spoken. Emma looked pleased.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Um...we were just wondering...is this your son?”

He toyed, briefly, with the idea of denying it, saying James was just some random toddler he’d kidnapped for the day, but worried that this was the sort of joke that could have him struck off the teaching register, so simply nodded and smiled. “This is James,” he agreed.

“He’s _adorable_!” This was from a blonde-haired girl whom he didn’t recognise—with Defence being an optional subject for sixth and seventh years, he knew far fewer of the upper school. They all knew him, however, which made for an interesting day so far. He and Ginny had become used to wandering about Hogsmeade of a Saturday together, which was usually a restful way to spend the day after the rigours of a teaching week. Unfortunately, he had completely forgotten that today was a Hogsmeade day—the last one of the term—and so they’d spent most of the day dodging the Hogwarts students peppering the village, all of whom seemed to find it completely stunning that he did not, in fact, live in the stationary cupboard and appear just to teach them.

Although, to be fair, many of their other teachers live at Hogwarts, so that probably wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. He, however, lived with Ginny and James in a little cottage on the outskirts of the village, which was just what he wanted. Except the nights, like last night, when James had woken them up every hour, on the hour until five am, when he’d point-blank refused to go back to sleep at all. Sometimes, he thought it would be nice to have rooms at Hogwarts so that he and Ginny could take it in turns to go up there and occasionally get a good night’s sleep.

“How old is he?” Emma asked, coming a little closer.

“Sixteen months,” Ginny said. “And he’s not adorable, he’s an absolute _monster_. Aren’t you, Jamie?” she cooed.

“He doesn’t look like a monster!” said the blonde. “Hello! Hello, Jamie!” She and another girl crouched down, pulling faces to try to make him smile, and Ginny encouraged him to wave at the girls. He did, and they squealed with delight, until the noise overcame him and he buried his head in his mother’s chest, coming over all shy. This made the girls laugh, and they started peppering Ginny with questions about him, which she was more than happy to answer.

The fifth member of their little group hung back, however. Harry recognised Aly Rathbone, as she was one of his best students in the NEWT group. She was quiet, but sharp; her essays were excellent; she was always utterly fearless when they had a practical session, and he often wondered if it had crossed her mind to apply for a position with the Aurors. She would make an excellent one, for sure. Unless, it appeared, she was ever called upon to work with children. Currently, she was looking at James with a facial expression akin to Ron’s when he was in close proximity to Aragog.

“Sorry, Sir,” she said, noticing him looking at her. “I’m no good with children. Especially babies. They leak out of every orifice and cry all the time. I just don’t see the appeal. No offence.”

Harry and Ginny both laughed. “None taken,” said Ginny.

“To be fair, that’s a pretty fair assessment of him at this stage,” Harry said. “Though I do agree with you, Emma. He is adorable, too.”

The group of girls laughed. “You should dock her marks on her essay, Sir, for being rude about your kid,” Emma suggested.

“Or lose some house points, at least,” said the blonde.

“Mia will do anything so that Gryffindor don’t have the lead any more, but that’s _so_ never going to happen! Professor Potter was a Gryffindor, he’ll never dock points from his own house,” said Emma smugly.

“Oh, but has he ever told you about how many points he used to _lose_ for his house?” asked Ginny. Their eyes lit up. “There as this one time, right, that he and a friend flew this car—” But fortunately for Harry, at that point James let out a loud wail, distracting Ginny.

“See, this is because you’re bullying him, Aly,” Mia teased.

“Just because I think children are leaky and smelly and boring does mean I’m a bully,” Aly said, rolling her eyes. “Er, no offence again, Sir.”

“That’s quite alright,” Harry said magnanimously. “I’ll disagree on the last one for sure, but you are not wrong about the first two. But I tell you what: you all do your homework on time and behave properly in my lessons, and I’ll leave him firmly at home, so you needn’t be in danger of being leaked on or smelled at. Sound good?”

They all laughed again, then moved on, cooing goodbye at James.

“Come on, _Professor Potter_ ,” Ginny said. “Someone’s going to need changing soon, and I want to at least have started our Christmas shopping before that happens!”

* * *

“No response,” Ginny said, pulling her head out of the fire. “At home _or_ at work.”

Harry cast around desperately for someone they hadn’t yet tried. “When’s Charlie due back?”

“Not until late next week; he’s still in Romania,” Ginny sighed, sitting back down at the table. Harry zoomed another spoonful of porridge into James’s mouth, to his delight, and Ginny drummed her fingers on the table. “...Hagrid?”

Harry shook his head. “He’s teaching all morning, and he’s got two groups of fifth years,” he explained. Ginny looked at him blankly. “Blast-ended skrewts lesson,” he amended, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, best not.” She sighed again. “I guess there’s only one thing for it, then. I’ll have to cancel.”

James was supposed to be spending the day with his grandparents, but Molly had floo’d this morning to let them know that Bill and Fleur’s kids had all come down with the Dragon Pox, which they’d caught from Teddy who’d come down with it two days earlier. She was going over to help out as best she could, and adding a destructive toddler to the mix would help no one, so Ginny had said not to worry, to give her best to the kids, and poor Bill and Fleur, and that she’d find another babysitter.

This had proven easier said than done: all their other options were unavailable. Andromeda was busy with poorly Teddy; Ron and Hermione were on a pre-Christmas mini-break; Percy was out of the country at a work summit; and George and Angelina were, apparently, unreachable (although, to be fair, this was the busiest time of year in the shop, and Ron was away too, leaving them a man down). Luna had been touring South America for months, and neither of them really wanted to leave James with their only remaining option—Great Auntie Muriel.

Still.

“You can’t cancel,” said Harry. “You’ve been waiting for this opportunity for months!”

Ginny was supposed to be interviewing Henrietta Hagglepuff, who had this year turned 100, but in her twenties had captained the Holyhead Harpies to ten successive League victories and had gone on to play for England. She was a legend in the game, but was also legendarily crotchety, and only granted interviews once in a very blue moon. When the _Prophet_ had approached her, asking if she’d like to be interviewed to celebrate her centenary, she had agreed—on the condition that it was “that Ginevra girl” who did the interview. Ginny had been honoured, until she’d realised how much hard work it was to pin Henrietta down to a date. It was almost Christmas, and Henrietta’s birthday had been in early March. If they were going to get the interview in print before the end of the year, she had to do it _today._

And now, this.

It was no one’s fault—she was sure Bill and Fleur would much rather their children didn’t have Dragonpox, after all. But being a working mother—even one who was a journalist, and who no longer played Quidditch professionally—was _hard_.

“I’ll have to cancel,” she said, resigned. “Can’t exactly take him with me, can I? You know what Henrietta’s reputation is like. No, I’ll just floo through to the office and tell them—”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Harry. “You can’t take him with you, but I can.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think—” began Ginny, but he cut her off.

“Why not?” he asked. “It would be different if I still worked at the Auror Office, but I’m only up the road now. He wouldn’t be in any danger, _and_ I’ve got PPA time until break.” She gave him another blank look, this one bordering on irritation. “Planning, preparation and assessment time. No kids. Just marking. But it’s the end of term, I’ll catch up with that over the holidays. No kids until after breaktime, and even then it’s only Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff third years, they’re a doddle. Then my sixth years, but they’re a breeze, too, then it’s lunch, and I bet you’ll be back by the end of it.”

“Well...” she said, clearly trying not to sound too hopeful. Harry knew how much this opportunity meant to her, though, so he barrelled on.

“Ginny,” he said firmly, bouncing James on his knee. “I’m his father, not his babysitter. I’m as capable of looking after him as you are.” He scooped up some more porridge and zoomed it towards James’s mouth again. “He’ll be absolutely fine coming to work with me for one morning. And even if you’re not done by lunchtime, I’ll still be fine. Thursdays are my easiest days, and it’s the last but one day of term. It’ll be fine. Won’t it, Jamie?”

James took a big mouthful of porridge off the spoon, then promptly sneezed, showering both himself and his father with beige gooeyness. Harry could’ve sworn he heard a snort of laughter from Ginny, but when he looked back at her, her face was a picture of gratitude.

“It would mean a lot to me,” she said. “As long as you’re okay with it?”

“Of _course_ I am,” he said, very firmly. “Look, if nothing else, it’s an opportunity to perfect my _Scourgify_ spell.” She did laugh at this. “Go on, get your quills!” he added. “Or you’ll be late. Go on, go!”

* * *

Having essentially bullied her into leaving before she could change her mind, Harry set about getting himself and James ready for school. After nearly a term there, he had perfected exactly how long it took to walk at a brisk pace between his home, and his classroom (six and a half minutes, though if he jogged most of the way, he could do it in four). He duly set off at his usual time, and arrived fifteen minutes after lessons had started.

As it turned out, tugging a toddler along was _much_ more time consuming.

Fortunately, as he had pointed out to Ginny, his first lesson was just planning, so no one noticed he was late. For fifty minutes, he played with James on the floor of his classroom (he’d been sure to pack plenty of toys and almost as many books as Hermione had taken with them on the Horcrux hunt) which James had enjoyed immensely. Everything had been totally fine, until five minutes before the end of break, when he’d waved his wand and tidied away all the toys in one fell swoop.

This, it turned out, was the wrong thing to do. James’s bottom lip started trembling wildly. “It’s okay, Jamie,” Harry said hastily, swooping him up into his arms, which usually stopped him from the worst of any meltdown.

James let out a loud wail.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh,” Harry said. “Everything’s okay!” Even James didn’t look like he believed this.

“Toy!” James wailed, pointing at the bag.

“Okay, you can have _one_ toy to play with,” Harry said. He reached into the bag, and pulled out the first two he came to which didn’t come with excessive noisemaking facilities: a very beloved old teddy bear, and a wooden boat.

“OAT!” James said, cheering up immediately. Harry, somewhat surprised, passed him the boat, and James hugged it delightedly. He was able to tidy the rest of the classroom, easily then, hearing his third years line up outside, he went to open the door. He’d already given James a pep talk about being good whilst the pupils were there, and he hoped the boat would serve as a distraction.

“OAT!” James cried again.

“That’s right,” Harry said. “Boat!” He took a deep breath.

“Okay, guys,” he called to his class. The third years had been even noisier than usual, lining up outside, but he put that down to pre-holidays end-of-term spirit. They all fell into a sudden silence on seeing James, which was in some ways even more unnerving than when they were all overexcited. “Come on in, take your seats please.”

He led the way, and deliberately spent a while shuffling papers on his desk, James still on his hip, whilst they sat down. He could hear a low level hum of intrigue—but then, none of _his_ teachers had ever turned up with a baby in tow. He couldn’t blame them. When he turned around, about half the class were looking at James with the classic _oh my goodness isn’t he adorable_ gaze usually reserved for puppies and kittens, and the other half looked incredibly wary.

“Right guys,” he said. “I’m aware we have an addition to the classroom today: this is my son, James. My babysitter fell through at the last moment, but we’re going to go on with the lesson as planned. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.” Unfortunately, at that moment, James was overcome with a sudden shyness, and, in turning into his father’s body, managed to bash him on the nose, hard, with the wooden boat.

The smart bought tears to his eyes, and Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to show weakness in front of the kids. Or swear in front of them, either. That would probably be frowned upon more.

“Don’t worry sir, he could’ve clocked you somewhere far more painful!” called Michael Hickton, a Hufflepuff and the self-designated class clown. Fortunately, this broke the tension, and everyone laughed, Harry included.

“Right guys,” he said, once they’d settled down. “You’ll be pleased to know that my Christmas present to you all is no homework over the break.” The class cheered. “However, I am going to take in your Grindylow essays. Put them on your desks, please.”

There was much shuffling of papers in bags, but Harry was pleased to see that most of them appeared to have at least something he could mark—how good they would be was another story. Some looked remarkably short, or were filled with writing so large he could see it from his desk.

“Michael,” he called. “I can’t see an essay on your desk.”

“Er...forgot?” Michael offered.

“You forgot to bring your beautifully completed essay, or you forgot to do it?” Harry asked, in his best strict voice.

“Er...” Michael said again.

Harry had found the most successful tactic in situations like this was to just wait it out, occasionally raising an eyebrow, McGonagall-like, for maximum strictness. Most kids usually admitted to their misdemeanours, especially if you added “I’m _wait_ ing,” in suitably irritated tones.

Unfortunately, James had other ideas.

“BAD,” he said very firmly, having picked up on the general vibe.

Even Harry had to join in the laughter. “Yes, very bad,” he agreed. “Right, Mr Hickton. If that essay is on my desk by five o’clock tonight, no more will be said of the matter. If not, you can come back during lunchtime tomorrow and finish it then, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said ruefully.

“ _Accio_ ,” Harry said, collecting in the rest of the essays. “Right then. Hinkypunks.”

The rest of the lesson went smoothly, for which Harry was very grateful. James was happy to be carried around as he went desk-to-desk, chatting with the pupils, and the whole lesson was fairly relaxed. He wished them all a good holiday when they left, and a few of them even dropped Christmas cards on his desk at the end of the lesson. He was touched—he’d had a few drift in from some of his other classes, and each one made him smile—but also relieved. An extra toy for James to play with would not go amiss, and his son was delighted to be handed them, immediately shoving one particularly glittery number into his mouth.

Even more fortunately, his sixth-year class went even better. Some of the group of girls he’d bumped into in Hogsmeade with Ginny were also in the class, and they all treated James like a minor celebrity, except Aly Rathbone, who gave him as wide a berth as possible. James continued to behave himself, though, so the lesson—which was supposed to be a fairly relaxed one, anyway, it being their last of the term—went fine.

“Christmas treat for you all: no homework,” Harry said, as the bell rang for lunch, and they cheered again. “Have a good break all of you, and I’ll see you in the new year.”

They filed out with many ‘Merry Christmases’ and ‘Happy New Years’, and some cooing over James. Although everything had gone fine, Harry was glad to see them go. When he’d first started teaching, by the end of the day he’d been absolutely exhausted by the sheer effort of it all. As term went on, and he’d grown more relaxed, he’d felt less tired—or at least, not ready to absolutely pass out by six o’clock in the evening. Doing everything as he normally did, but with James strapped to his side, though, had bought it all flying back. He had no idea how he was going to get through his afternoon classes if he was already feeling as shattered as this. He wondered if Ginny was back yet...

“You alright, kiddo?” he asked, as James let out a cheery gurgle. But then...

“Mama!” James said, looking around. _Uh-oh_ thought Harry, spotting a tremulous wobble in his lower lip.

“Very soon!” he promised, crossing his fingers. “Look, it’s Teddy the bear!” He summoned him out of the bag of toys, and charmed the stuffed toy so that it danced in front of him. “That’s right, I’m Teddy the bear,” he said, in his special growly-bear voice. “And I’ve come to eat you up, yum yum yum.” He waved the bear gently in James’s face. To his relief, his son giggled, tears temporarily forgotten. Harry continued to make the munching noises, until—

“Um...Professor Potter?” Aly Rathbone had stepped back inside his classroom—somewhat hesitantly, it had to be said. “Sorry, I’m not interrupting, am I? I can come back if this is a bad—”

“No, no, not at all!” said Harry, who was just about passed being embarrassed by this point. He passed James the bear (he immediately started trying to eat its legs) and switched him to his other side. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Aly said, walking over towards the desk. She lingered halfway across the classroom, which Harry at first thought was because she wasn’t keen on babies. But then he realised that something more was going on: she seemed to be working up to something, and he so tried not to push.

“Um, well. There’s this programme the Auror Office run over the summer, for Sixth Year students, a week long residential course to see if you’ve got what it takes to join them and see if you really do want to be an Auror,” she explained, like Harry himself hadn’t had a hand in setting up the course. “Which I do. Um, want to be an Auror, I mean. So I want to apply to the programme.”

“For what its worth,” Harry said, “I think you certainly have the skills in Defence and stand a very good shot at the programme.” Aly blushed, then clearly tried very hard not to look too pleased.

“You have to get the application in by the end of January, so I’m going to work on it over the break,” she explained. “What I wanted to ask was...would you be prepared to write me a reference?”

“I would be delighted to write you a reference,” said Harry, smiling. “As soon as you’ve got your application written, send me a draft and I’ll see if I can give you any pointers on it, too.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Aly, beaming back at him. “I know you’re really busy, so I really appreciate— _ow_!” She broke off as a teddy bear sailed through the air and clocked her squarely on the nose.

“What— _James_!” Harry was horrified. “I’m so sorry Ms Rathbone! That was _very naughty_ ,” he added, looking severely at James. “I’m very sorry,” he said again, turning back to Aly, who looked like she was trying not to laugh at him. “Are you quite alright? Is your nose okay? I can send for someone to take you to the hospital wing if you need—”

“I’m fine, honestly!” Aly assured him. “It was only a teddy bear, it didn’t hurt at all. It just surprised me! Here.” She handed it back to him, and Harry hid it from James immediately.

“I am so sorry,” he said again.

“It’s fine, really,” Aly said. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to being assaulted, right, if I’m going to make it as an Auror?”

“You’re not wrong, I’m afraid,” Harry said. “But you’ll no doubt be delighted to know that there’s generally very little working with children involved.

“Thank Merlin,” she said quickly, then looked guilty again.

“I don’t blame you at all,” he replied, grinning. “Now, are you quite sure you’re okay?” Aly assured him that she was. “Excellent. Bring me that application as soon as you’re back, and I’ll sort you out with a reference and anything else you need. Have a good holiday.”

Aly left, thanking him again, and Harry turned to his son. “You,” he said severely, “are an absolute terror.”

“Ah-BAH,” agreed James.

Harry sighed, ignoring James as he reached for the bear again, and checked his watch.

It wasn’t far to their little cottage in Hogsmeade, but by the time he walked there and walked back, lunch would be over, and he was starving, not to mention the fact that he’d have to find time to feed James. If he knew Ginny was home, that would be one thing, but if she wasn’t, it would essentially be a wasted journey. And he had his second years straight after lunch, and there were more than a few troublemakers in that class...

“Is it worth risking the floo?” he asked James rhetorically. His son almost certainly didn’t understand the question, but started to grizzle, groping for the toy Harry had taken off him.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Harry sighed, trying to soothe him. James wriggled discontentedly.

Ginny’s Mum assured them that all children got travel sick apparting, using the floo, or travelling by portkey, and promised that, once James got older, he’d certainly grow out of it. For now, they simply avoided any form of magical transportation as much as they could, and, where they really couldn’t, travelled with a spare set of clothes for James—and often for them, too.

Harry didn’t have any more clean work robes, and the walk to and from home would take the remainder of lunch, leaving him with no time to feed his son who was getting grouchier by the minute.

“Not worth risking it, is it mate?” he asked. James wailed. “I know, I know, you’re hungry. I’ll feed you as soon as I can. I’m just wondering if we could get home to see if your Mum’s back...”

“Mama!” cried James.

“I know, I know,” Harry said vaguely. “Right,” he said a moment later, pointing his wand at the various accoutrements James had managed to fling across the room and doing his best to tidy up one handed. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll drop you with Uncle Hagrid, floo home, see if Mama’s home, and if not I’ll come back and we’ll—”

“Professor Potter?”

Harry jumped, the familiar voice and familiar tone registering before the use of his title. He immediately felt guilty, then reminded himself that he was a fully grown adult and that Professor McGonagall (he still couldn’t call her Minerva to her face) was not about to dock him any house points or issue him with detention.

“Er, hello, Professor McGonagall!” he said, his voice about twelve octaves higher than usual. He fought the urge to try to hide James behind his back.

“And what have we got here, then?” she asked, sweeping into the classroom and holding out her arms.

“Hello, young man! How are you today?” The thing about Professor McGonagall was that she absolutely wasn’t one of those people who talked to children, no matter how young, in that annoying, cloying baby voice. Rather, she addressed James in precisely the same tone she had used the other week on the inspector from the Ministry who had come to assess the school. This meant that, for a short moment, Harry wasn’t sure if it was him or his son she was talking to.

James, whose mood changed like the weather, burbled cheerful nonsense at her. “I see,” she said gravely, when this had finished. “I entirely agree. Now, come on, do hand him over!” She motioned to Harry, who jumped to it. “There, now. Right. Off you go, go and get some lunch in you.”

“Uhhh...” said Harry.

“Lunch!” said Professor McGonagall again. “I take the welfare of my staff very seriously, and you cannot possibly expect to teach on an empty stomach, it’s not good for you at all. Especially as you’ve got those dreadful Cresswell twins this afternoon. For goodness’ sake, go and have a sandwich, Merlin only knows you’ll need it.”

“I was going to go and see if Ginny’s back, to see if I could take her James,” he said, only half aware of what she’d just said. Whilst he was sure there was technically no rules against taking your child to work, it probably wasn’t exactly encouraged either, and it also probably wasn’t a good idea to go breaking even the unwritten rules in your first term as a teacher.

“She couldn’t take him today—there was an emergency—no one hurt—well, there is the Dragon Pox—but that’s Ted and Vic and that lot, not James—so I had to—” He babbled on, aware himself that he wasn’t making much sense, but too tired to start again.

“ _Harry_ ,” Professor McGonagall said loudly after a moment, cutting him off. Harry gulped, aware that she had used his first name. “You do not need to explain yourself to me. We are a friendly and welcoming staff here, or at least, we try to be. Even those of us who do not have children are aware that sometimes, parents face challenges and last-minute changes in babysitting plans. That you bought James in today, the day before the end of term, is no trouble.”

Harry’s shoulders, which had been somewhere up around his ears, dropped in relief.

“However,” she continued severely, and he immediately tensed again. “I have to say that I was _very_ disappointed that you did not come to me _immediately_ this morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry said at once. “Sorry—I should’ve known that there’d be some risk assessment form I’d need to do—I can go and fill that out now if you—”

“Nothing like that!” barked Professor McGonagall. “No, I simply wondered why you did not ask _me_ to look after him? You know I don’t have any classes on Thursdays.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Why _hadn’t_ he thought of Professor McGonagall? She would’ve been the perfect choice.

“Never mind,” she said, before he could formulate a response. “You can make it up to me by not forgetting again.”

“Of course, yes, of course,” Harry said, nodding vigorously. “If Ginny has something on at work again and I need to bring him in—of course you’ll be my first choice. Of course.”

“Excellent,” smiled Professor McGonagall, rearranging a now very contented James in her lap. If Harry hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he wouldn’t have believed it, but as he watched, she bent down and kissed James very gently on the forehead.

She straightened up. “How about every Thursday morning, then?”

Harry grinned. “Sure thing, Professor.”


End file.
